Deception
by wecontrolthefear
Summary: When dream addicted Kyra is forced to steel Eames' totem she expects to complete the job and move on with her life. What she doesn't realize is that it is impossible to move on when you are locked in your broken past. Will Eames help her to leave her broken dreams behind, or will they end up lost in limbo? Eames/OC
1. 01 I'm All Out of Love

_I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you, I know you were right believing for so long.  
I'm all out of love, what am I without you, I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong. - Air Supply_

* * *

Her eyes open and blink rapidly at the bright light that streams through the sheer curtains of the bedroom. She takes in the beautiful and pristine setting, and feels a terrifying panic encase her being. Her palms are sweaty and she can feel her heart racing, but can find no specific reason for it. But she can sense that something is off. Beside her sleeps the handsome husband that loves her. Just down the hall are two beautiful little girls that want nothing more than her love, and outside there is a neighborhood that seems to need her in a rather deep way. But, every time, she wakes with the same shortness of breath, and the same panic in her heart and mind. Because deep down, she knows that this is not real, that it's an illusion.

Her eyes focus on the bathroom door, and she pulls herself out of bed and towards the hot shower she knows can be found behind it. As she crosses the expanse of beige carpet she glances back over her shoulder at the man that is still sleeping in their mussed up bed. One of his long, lean legs hangs out of the sheets and her eyes trail up to his muscular back before finally settling on his handsome face. His black hair is ruffled from sleep and his face nearly boyish in the innocence of sleep. She feels her heart skip a beat when his lips curve up into a small smile and she can't stop the responding grin that twitches her lips at the sight. He's gone, it's not real! she wants to yell at herself, but instead relishes the sight of him in their bed. He's here now, and that's what matters.

The hot water helps to erase all of her remaining tension, and as she exits the bathroom she thinks her earlier panic silly. Why should she panic when this life is so beautiful? She frowns at the empty bed as she dresses in grey yoga pants and a black tunic top, sweeping her wavy brown hair into a messy ponytail before heading down to the kitchen to get breakfast ready for her girls. She finds her husband already pouring milk over their bowls of cereal, and she picks up the steaming cup of coffee that sits on the counter waiting for her.

"Thanks honey," she coos as she walks over to him and places a peck on his cheek. He gives her a small smile, but doesn't respond. Before she has time to wonder why he isn't speaking, the doorbell rings and she trots down the hall to answer it.

The woman at the door is a small blonde with startling blue eyes and a bindi in the middle of her forehead. She has a slight southern twang, but it's obvious that she is trying to hide it. "Well, good morning, Miss Kyra. Shall we have a cup of that sweet chicory coffee before we go on our run?" The woman gestures down the hall with her head, her curls bobbing comically.

Kyra is slightly confused; she doesn't remember any plans for a run. In fact, the thought of a morning jog is not something that appeals to her in any way. She can only guess that Cathy tricked her somehow, that she had agreed to go for a run without knowing what she was agreeing to in the first place. But she feels it is too late to back out now. Reluctantly, she nods her head slowly. "Um, sure Cathy. Let's have some coffee first." She turns around and walks back to the kitchen, the sound of the other woman's steps echoing in the short hallway.

When she reaches the kitchen she is surprised to find it empty. Kyra is sure that her girls should be eating, but not only are they missing, there is no evidence of the cereal her husband had prepared. She begins to open her mouth to call out to them, but then the world begins to shift, and she can feel her body failing to compensate. Her arms spin wildly as she fights to remain upright, though it is futile. As she plummets backwards toward the tile floor she watches with dismay as her husband rushes into the room with a terrified look on his face. Then her head hits the tile with a sickening, painful smack and her eyes are closed once more.

This time she doesn't need to open her eyes to know where she is. She is very well aware that this is reality, and the knowledge is far from a comfort. The smell of sweat, dirt and chemicals permeate the air, and the noxious scent is nearly suffocating. She can hear the breathing of those that are still under and voices above her discussing times and costs. She knows that her dream time has been cut short, and she figures the hot breath on her cheek has something to do with it.

"Well good morning, sunshine! Did you find what you was looking for?" a rough voice asks, letting a flood of garlic breath hit her. Kyra has to suppress a gag as a very real panic takes hold of her, recognizing the voice and the smell. She tenses her muscles, preparing to run.

Finally she pries her heavy eyes open and looks at the face that is leering down at her. He is slightly pudgy and has thick black hair slicked back with entirely too much gel. Even though he is clean physically, he just seems to ooze a greasy slime. She lets loose a short, frustrated sigh and stares the man down, attempting to sound nonchalant. "No, what do you want, Leech? You interrupted."

"Thought you could hide from me, use another dealer? Pretty face like you? You're not hard to miss, sweetheart." His responding smile is predatory. "And while there are certainly some things that I want from you, some very lovely gentlemen are here to escort you elsewhere."

* * *

Escort is hardly the word she would use to describe it. The grip on Kyra's arms is so tight, she's sure she'll have bruises in the morning. Her feet are dragging across a plush, grey carpet as they haul her into a beautiful office, all glass and steel, dotted with warm cherry wood furniture. She notes the oddity of the antique furniture in contrast to the ultra-modern room before they throw her into a hard wooden chair. The brutish men stand their guard on either side of her, leaving her to rub her arms as blood starts flowing through them again. "You boys could have just asked nicely." Her guards don't respond, just stand vigil silently until a door on the opposite side of the room opens.

"Ms. Davis, so nice of you to join me this evening." The woman is striking, her beauty almost severe, all long limbs and sharp angles. She strides confidently across the room in a few steps before taking a seat behind her large desk, looking perfectly comfortable.

"Like I was given a choice in the matter." Kyra grips the arms of the chair to hide the fact that her hands are trembling. She's trying to maintain a collected exterior but inside, she's afraid. She can feel her heart racing in her chest, and can't help but wonder if everyone in the room can hear it thundering away.

The woman doesn't look fazed, merely picks up a folder from her desk and starts reciting. "Kyra Rahimi Davis. Born in Atlanta to Hassan and Jacqueline Rahimi. Both parents deceased before you were ten. Things seem to have gone downhill from there. Multiple arrests for breaking and entering, larceny, possession of illegal substances-"

"I was a juvenile, those records are supposed to be sealed." Kyra can feel her voice crack, though it seems no one else notices.

"Not to those that can pay handsomely for information, Ms. Davis. You seemed to have cleaned up your act after meeting your late husband, though it appears you have lost your scruples since his passing. And addicted to dreaming to boot," she tuts, the woman's voice cold, fluid, like icy vodka poured from a bottle.

The idea that this woman knows her deepest secrets, not only of her current addiction, but her prior arrests, has Kyra shaken to the core. "Why am I here? I don't even know who the hell you are."

"You can call me Charity, because that is what I'm extending to you. For a price, of course." It is obvious to Kyra that this is not the woman's name and she makes a mental note to research it later. The more she knows, the better prepared she can be for whatever is coming. The woman closes the folder she's looking at and inspects Kyra over the top of her glasses. "You are in a very bad way with some very bad people, Ms. Davis. I brought you here to remedy that."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I require your very specialized services."

"Oh?"

Charity stands and glides around her desk, leaning against it as she faces Kyra and hands her a photo. "Mr. Eames took something from me. And I need it back."

Kyra's first thought is that the man is handsome, despite his questionable taste in suits, and he has a look about him that is far from innocent. "And what exactly did he steal?" The woman hands her another photo, this time of a very simple object. "A poker chip? All of this for a poker chip?"

"You are not here to question me, or my motives. You can either assist me willingly, or I will toss you to the dream dealer and his dogs, and I think we both know that they will not hesitate to take what you owe to them from your body."

Kyra represses a shiver before it can travel down her spine. She has seen the way the dealer's men look at her, not to mention Leech himself, and she has no interest in finding out how they would take what she owes them.

"You will steal this chip, lure Mr. Eames back here to Detroit, then deliver both to me."

"What makes you think he'll follow me back here?"

"He will. The chip is of great importance to him."

"And if I fail?"

The woman stands, signifying that the conversation is over. "You won't, or else." She pauses briefly while shuffling through papers on her desk. "All of your expenses will be covered, this should be enough to get you started," she states while handing over an envelope. "You will not be dreaming again until your job is complete. You will be monitored to ensure your compliance. You're on a flight to Monte Carlo in two days. Gentlemen?"

Kyra stands before the henchmen can place their hands on her again. "I'm perfectly capable of walking out of here on my own, thank you."

She is almost out the door before Charity's voice drifts back to her. "We'll be watching, Ms. Davis. Don't fuck it up."

* * *

Eames sits at the mahogany bar, watching the glass entryway with rapt attention while trying to tune out the off-key singing of the woman on stage. Though he would never let the outside world know it, he is feeling rather anxious about meeting his old friends, certain that this is not a social visit. Cobb has never been known for his fun loving personality, and Arthur has always been an old woman. No, this is about a job and he knows it. Unfortunately, they are going to be disappointed at the end of this little talk, even if they were kind enough to fly him out to Monte Carlo.

When he sees the two men entering the building his hand drifts into his jacket pocket and absently caresses the poker chip tucked within it. His totem assures him that this is in fact reality, and when the men near him he withdraws his hand and begins tapping his fingers on the bar, squaring his shoulders and plastering a condescending smile on his face.

"Cobb, Arthur, lovely to see you again." His voice does not betray his displeasure at the meeting, instead it is as smooth as it always has been.

A buxom blonde woman approaches from the other end of the bar, a large smile spreading across her rather average face. "What can I get you gentlemen?" she trills, her voice high pitched and her fake French accent poorly done.

"Whatever you have on tap will be fine." Cobb says dismissively, obviously unhappy that he has been interrupted before he can even start.

"Grolsh, please. And a Shirley Temple for the lovely lady." Eames tilts his head indicating Arthur, and the waitress gives him a perplexed look, before looking to Arthur for confirmation.

Arthur doesn't crack a smile. "Just a soda water, thank you."

The men wait silently for the waitress to return, unwilling to start a conversation just to be interrupted again, but they don't wait for long. As soon as the drinks hit the bar and the waitress is gone, Eames asks the question that has been hanging in the air, just begging to be voiced. "So what are you here to try to drag me into this time, gentlemen? Another inception debacle?"

"Simple extraction, we just require your services." Cobb says matter of factly, before taking a long swig of his beer.

Eames notices Arthur surveying the woman singing karaoke on the stage, a maligned look on his face, and decides to lighten the mood a bit. "Thinking of having a go, Arthur? Perhaps we could duet on I'm All Out of Love." He smiles his most charming grin and gestures between himself and Arthur before pointing at the stage.

"We need a forger, Eames." Arthur says, completely ignoring the jab.

Eames sighs quietly and looks down at his bottle as if it will give him the right words. "I surmised as much. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm out of the game, gentlemen."

"Out of the game?" Cobb asks in utter disbelief.

Eames chuckles, but there is no humor in his tone and his eyes show that he sees no joy in what he is saying. "Did a job after Fischer's case, didn't turn out so well either. I'm done putting my bloody neck on the line, so it's back to honest thieving for me."

"Honest thieving?" Arthur says skeptically, and Cobb looks at Eames as if he has completely lost his marbles.

The woman has vacated the small stage and the DJ starts to play a sad French song. Eames takes a long pull on his beer before he responds. "A lot simpler that way. What do you say to that duet Arthur?" He asks, smirking once more.

"Is there nothing we can do to convince you otherwise?" Cobb's voice sounds almost pleading, though he isn't the kind of man to beg.

Eames looks both men in the eyes, ensuring that they understand that he is completely serious. "I'm sorry, but no. Lovely seeing you boys again, but there is a poker table calling my name." He drains his beer in one last pull and drops some cash on the bar, nodding his goodbye to Cobb and Arthur as he exits the bar.

A stunning brunette in a dress with a dangerously high slit up one leg catches his eye as he walks through the lobby, and Eames can't help but smile as he follows her into the poker room and watches her settle at his table. Win or lose, the evening just got more interesting.

* * *

**A/N - This story is a collaboration between authors fifflesgiggles and comingsummers.**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	2. Chapter Two - She's Not There

**Chapter****Two**** - ****She****'****s****Not****There**

_Well__, __no __one __told __me __about __her__, __the __way __she __lied_

_Well__, __no __one __told __me __about __her__, __how __many __people __cried__._

_But __it__'__s __too __late __to __say __you__'__re __sorry__, _

_How __would __I __know__, __why __should __I __care__?_

_Please __don__'__t __bother __tryin__' __to __find __her_

_She__'__s __not __there__._

_Well__, __let __me __tell __you__ '__bout __the __way __she __looked_

_The __way __she__'__d __act __and __the __colour __of __her __hair_

_Her __voice __was __soft __and __cool_

_Her __eyes __were __clear __and __bright_

_But __she__'__s __not __there__. - __The __Zombies_

"You can't possibly have the straight you're pretending to have, love."

The gorgeous woman sitting across from him just flashes him a Mona Lisa smile, one that gives away absolutely nothing. That the woman has no tells at all is a bit irritating. Eames runs a chip along his knuckles before placing it on his stack and shuffling it in with the others, keeping his fingers occupied as he debates his next move. She had raised on the flop, merely called on the turn and then raised again on the river card. All signs were pointing towards a low pair, but that damn smile is enough to give him pause. "Call." He calmly pushes his chips towards center, his eyes not leaving the stunning creature across from him as the dealer counts his bet.

Her lips curve up slightly as she flips over her cards. "Straight, Queen high," the dealer announces.

Eames tosses his cards to center, grinding his teeth in frustration, defeated. "Don't get cocky, love. It's not over yet." He manages to keep his voice playful and unconcerned, even though she has just taken a large sum of money from him.

She smirks back at him, that same infuriatingly calm smile on her face. "I'm not cocky, just confident."

"We'll take a thirty minute recess," the dealer announces, his French accent heavy but still understandable. "Play continues at eight o'clock, sharp. $1000 per minute penalty for any that arrive late."

The woman is up before any of the rest of the players, gliding across the room to the bar. Eames follows without consciously deciding to do so, arriving behind her just as she throws back a shot of amber liquid.

"Two more," he calls to the bartender as he takes the seat next to her. "You know, if you're going to take all of my money, I should at least know your name."

She seems to debate it, running her finger along the rim of the shot glass she just emptied. "Kyra. And you are?" When he hesitates, she smirks and continues. "If I'm going to take all of your money, I should know your name as well."

Deciding there is no harm in giving her his name he replies with a smirk that mirrors her own. "Eames."

"Who names their child Eames?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

They are briefly interrupted when the bartender places the two small glasses of whiskey in front of him, but Eames is quick to respond to her assumptive comment once they are alone again. "It's my last name."

"And your first?" she asks as she reaches out and takes one of the shots before he even offers.

He lightly caresses his glass and replies with a rather short tone. "Just call me Eames."

"Someone's touchy. Let me guess, it's something devastatingly British." She is grinning at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes and slowly turns the shot between her fingers and thumb.

He ignores the jab and raises his glass towards hers. "A toast?" Eames prompts.

"To sore losers."

"And why is that?" he asks, his smile faltering slightly.

"I hope you're not one." And with a knowing smirk, she throws back her shot.

* * *

"You're a bloody menace, Kyra." The sight of her raking in the majority of his chips is apparently a sad sight for poor Mr. Eames. They had both systematically knocked out the other players over the last few hours and it was down to just the two of them now. But not for long, if she continued her streak.

"I would say I'm sorry, Mr. Eames, but I'm not."

"Of course not, you've got all of my chips over there." His tone is short and it makes his accent even more pronounced.

_Not __the __one __that __matters__, _she thinks. "Not yet."

"The blind will put you all in, Mr. Eames," the dealer announces, patiently waiting until Eames pushes his chips into center with a sad sigh.

"Already giving up, Mr. Eames?" Kyra can't help but taunt him. "I would have placed you for a fighter." He stays silent, his jaw working in apparent frustration. She can tell she's getting under his skin, and she's taking quite a bit of pleasure in it. Kyra puts her blind into center, smiling when the cards come face up and she has a pair of queens to Eames' off suit four and six.

Five cards from the dealer and the game is won. It's subtle, but she notices Eames stick his hand in his jacket pocket and assumes he's caressing the poker chip that she is tasked to steal. He stands from the table and stalks away without looking over his shoulder once at her.

Well that just won't do. Kyra stays just long enough to make arrangements for collecting her winnings before following, nearly losing sight of him as he exits the casino proper and heads into the same karaoke bar where she had first spotted him.

"Come to lick your wounds?" she nearly purrs as she joins him at the bar.

"You offering, love?"

"Maybe." Kyra tries to angle her body close enough to his to access to the pocket she's sure the poker chip is in, but he shifts his body just so, enough that she can no longer slip in undetected. Of course he wasn't going to make it easy. _Time__for__plan__B__. _"Four shots of whiskey," she calls to the bartender.

"So are you going to tell me your first name, Mr. Eames?" They are tucked away into a dark corner of the bar and Kyra can feel the alcohol in her veins, but she is not nearly as buzzed as she is pretending to be. Years of heavy partying in her past have built up her tolerance, allowing her to keep up with Eames' steady stream of shots. From the look of him, he seems much further gone than she. _Good_. "Or should I just make one up?"

"What does it matter?" Eames' voice is low and quite alluring.

She gives him a playful smile as she raises her glass to her lips. "How else am I going to know what to write in my diary in the morning?"

He smiles seductively at her before leaning in, barely grazing his lips across her jaw. She tries unsuccessfully to fight the shudder of pleasure it causes, and then he whispers in her ear. "Eames will do just fine, love."

Kyra doesn't skip a beat, pulling back slightly and giving him that same knowing smirk that she had permanently held on her face at the poker game. "Oliver? Alistair? Ethan?"

"Eames, love. Just Eames." His hand slips into the slit of her dress, and her eyes widen slightly at the sudden warmth of his hand on her thigh. She is surprised at the calloused texture of his palm on her skin, having expected softer hands on a fellow thief.

Suddenly she stands, draining her glass, and dropping a few bills on the table before starting to walk away. She feels confident that she has him in the palm of her hand, but when he doesn't immediately follow her she pauses, turning and cooing back at him. "You coming then, Mr. Eames?"

* * *

The doors have barely closed before he is on her, pressing her against the wall of the elevator with his thigh between hers. He doesn't kiss her, just runs his lips up her throat and across her jaw, a barely there touch that is meant to taunt her. He's rewarded with a quiet moan from Kyra, the sound delicious. He pulls his head back to stare at her, then leans in slowly to just brush his lips against hers, continuing to tease her. He grins inwardly when Kyra involuntarily licks her lips and groans as he leans back, one of his hands hitching her leg up as his thigh presses against her heat. "You are a very dangerous man, Mr. Eames." Her voice is breathy, and he loves the cool tone.

He feels her hand move around him and knows that it is moving perilously close to his pocket, so he pulls away as the elevator dings, effectively slipping away from her innocently probing hands. He takes her hand and tugs her gently from the elevator. "You have no idea, love." He smirks slightly at his own wit and gently nudges her forward, so that she will lead them to her room. He is about to show her just how dangerous he can be.

It takes them a few moments to reach room 1739, but as soon they stop in front of the door he finds that he can no longer keep his hands off of her lovely body. His hands reach out and wrap lightly around her waist, sliding up and down her sides ever so slowly. He notices that her hands are shaking as she tries to slide the keycard into the door. After several failed attempts he reaches around and takes the key from her, sliding it into the narrow slot and swiftly retracting it as the little green light flashes brightly. He roughly opens the door and pushes Kyra through it in front of him, with only one thought flashing through his fuzzy mind: her, naked on the bed.

As they make their way across the room he is pleasantly surprised to discover that Kyra seems equally excited by the idea, and it almost seems that they battle for dominance over who leads in pulling clothes off of the other. Their hands and their mouths are a frenzy, a wild tangle of limbs and lips. He feels a second of concern when his jacket hits the ground, but then her hands are pulling at the buttons on his shirt almost violently and his mind shifts back to the task at hand. He finds the zipper on her dress and oh so slowly tugs it down her spine, allowing his fingers to trail down her freshly exposed skin as the dress hits the floor.

The backs of his knees hit the bed and she firmly pushes him back, straddling him as he topples backwards. He feels her hand behind his head, her fingers running through his hair, then briefly disappearing, before slowly trailing up his shoulder and along the inside of his arm. And then, before he can even comprehend the sensations, he feels coolness on his wrist, and hears two soft metallic clicks. She continues to kiss him for a few moments, but then pulls back and looks at him with an odd expression. He tries to pull his hand from hers so that he can brush a lock of her hair back before pulling her in for another kiss, but he finds that he can't move it, and then realizes that she has handcuffed him to the bloody bed.

He gives her a roguish grin and tries to sound like he is simply amused by her ideas of fun in bed, but inside he is starting to grow angry, and he can feel the slight stirrings of panic. "I'm not sure who you've been talking to, love, but I'm not into this sort of thing."

She rises off of him and throws a cocky grin his way, but he notices that the look doesn't carry to her eyes the way it did down at the poker game. The anger and panic that were only budding seconds ago are now fully blooming within him. When she doesn't even respond to him he realizes that he has been played. The thought infuriates him, but he also feels a grudging respect for the beautiful woman. She is the first person to successfully con him since he was fresh out of university.

He loses the act and simply gives her a hard look as he speaks. "Well played, darling. Now, what is it that you're after?" His eyes watch with growing apprehension as she slips back into her dress and bends back down to pick up his jacket.

There is no sound of remorse in her tone as she pulls the single poker chip from his pocket and holds it up for him to see. "This, Mr. Eames. Though I can't for the life of me understand why there is such a fuss over a $100 chip." She slips the chip into her bra and glances back up at him with a devilish smirk on her face. "Have a lovely evening, Mr. Eames."

**We apologize for the long absence between these chapters and hope that you can forgive us! Please show us some love and give us some reviews. Thanks!**


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